


Dangers Along the Way

by Kaydel



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaydel/pseuds/Kaydel
Summary: John Childermass has a predilection for wandering and getting into trouble. Luckily for him, Mr Segundus is there to help him escape.





	Dangers Along the Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notkingyet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notkingyet/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy, notkingyet! I've taken my canon mostly from the TV series, but the magic is largely from the book (as most magic is). Happy Yuletide!
> 
> Many thanks to Parabolica for the beta <333

It was, infuriatingly, his own fault for allowing himself to get into this sort of trouble.

Childermass found that he was feeling not a little annoyed at the current turn of events, which was the only natural reaction, he supposed, to finding oneself tied upside down from a rather large tree and awaiting exsanguination. The annoyance was compounded by the fact that John Segundus, of all people, had decided to come to his rescue, and had now very foolishly planted himself between Childermass and his would-be executioner.

“You are being very foolish. I could have handled this easily myself,” Childermass told him solemnly, as he twisted against his bonds without much effect. He supposed they were enchanted with some sort of Faerie magic, being made of a very spiteful-looking sort of ivy.

“Oh, do be quiet,” Mr Segundus hissed. “I told you — no, I warned you! In very specific terms! In the strongest language! — That the north-eastern branch of the King’s Roads don’t go all the way to Agrace! Oh, if you had only _listened_ to me when I told you there was no mention in Dr Pale’s writings about this, then we wouldn’t — ”

The faerie holding Childermass clicked his tongue. From afar he assumed the bearing of a noble gentleman, and indeed when up close, his clothes were woven from the most delicate spider’s silk, but he had too many pairs of eyes and his teeth were far too sharp for him to ever be permitted entry to any of London’s fashionable salons. 

“I have asked you before to state what business you have with the Duke of Withered Joy, Magician. You have yet to give me an answer.” 

“And I have said that I’ll not answer to the likes of you when you trespass on my King’s Roads!” Childermass had only wanted to travel this north-eastern portion of the Roads to explore the unknown regions of Faerie. He had fancied a break from trying to decipher the King’s Letters for the better part of two months, especially when the King’s Book had taken against washing of any kind, in order to preserve the ‘integrity of the King’s writings’ (which Childermass privately thought was simply a result of laziness, and not some form of higher-minded altruism).

How was he to know that a wandering troupe of disaffected Faeries had decided to claim the crossroads at this part of the Road as their own private fiefdom, and expected all non-Faeries to pay a toll? They had particularly taken against his newly painted Cards of Marseilles, for some reason, and had torn the cards and scattered them like an offering to the howling gales that whipped their already wild hair up into even more monstrous shapes.

“A Christian dares walk these Roads?” they had howled, pouncing upon him before he had a chance to explain his reason for travelling. “And a Magician, no less? Bring him before His Grace the Merciless!”

At times like this, and despite his better nature, Childermass often wondered if the warnings that the Aureate and Argentine magicians had given regarding the employment of Faerie servants were somewhat exaggerated. He would have very much liked to have had some sort of defence against a pack of Faerie highwaymen. A Faerie as defence against a horde of Faeries would have been a very good thing indeed, for they tied him up and thrashed him about his arms and legs for his insolence with a switch that too closely resembled that of his old school master’s. By and by, when they were tired of this sport, they had hoisted him up this ancient, twisted tree, whose branches looked as if they were the clawed hands of some long-dead giant, and promised him a slow and excruciating death for the insult suffered by one of their relatives as a result of the meddling of two other Christian Magicians.

Once more, Childermass found himself amazed at the unintended effects of his erstwhile master’s meddling with Faerie magic. He supposed his current situation was very most likely of his own making, seeing as how he had been the one to counsel Norrell into bringing about the Restoration of English Magic. Appropriate then, that he should be made a proxy for these creatures’ anger against both Norrell and Strange. He had taken a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited for the inevitable moment.

The sudden appearance of John Segundus, however, was not quite the rescue Childermass had been expecting.

“You will leave him alone, sir,” Segundus said now, planting himself very determinedly in front of the Faerie and clenching his fists so that his hands would not shake. “He has made you no insult, and you have no authority to claim such a penalty from him.”

The Faerie laughed. It was an unpleasant sound, like the grinding of dry boulders against each other. “And who might you be, little one? Another Christian Magician come to steal our patrimony?”

“I am only a humble scholar of the history of the King of the North. Let my friend and I leave this place unharmed, and we will be more careful in the future of how we make our way.” As if to prove his point, Segundus held up his battered copy of _A Child’s History of the Raven King_. Despite his rather perilous situation, Childermass found himself strongly suppressing the urge to laugh. No matter if he was at a gathering of the York Society of Magicians, or confronting an unknown Fae, John Segundus would not be parted from his studies.

“Ha! What need would we have for _books_ and _writings_? They were only set down by your race because you did not know how to properly work the magic yourselves!” The Faerie’s otherworldly demeanour took on an even wilder cast. He was old, older than Childermass and Segundus had realised, almost as ancient as England with all her forests and streams.

“Yes,” Segundus agreed cautiously, “yes, we are very poor students of magic. It does not come to us as naturally as for the Sidhe. That is why we are still learning.” Childermass was about to set forth his own opinion of the Faerie’s statement, but a pointed glance from Segundus silenced him quickly. 

“Please,” Segundus continued, “I am sure you will find many other travellers to pay your toll of… erm… ah yes, a token of Loneliness and Spite. In the meantime, perhaps I could offer you something else as compensation?”

With a flourish, he produced a handful of what looked like stars, each one brightly sparkling and giving off tendrils of luminescent green fire. Childermass allowed himself a moment to be impressed. The last he and Segundus had had a chance to converse about Segundus’ experiments at Starecross, he had neglected to mention his latest discoveries. This revelation excited the Faerie, for some reason. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed and his demeanour oddly reverential.

“See here, Magician, what are you about? Those are Tears-of-Hope! We haven’t harvested those in an age. How did you come by them?”

“That is my own secret. I would be more than happy to give you these, sir, as a token of our respect for your master. Only please be so kind as to release my friend to my care.”

From his vantage point, Childermass could see the slight quiver at the corner of Segundus’ mouth that betrayed his anxiousness. The Faerie was much too preoccupied with the prospect of taking Segundus’ offering to notice. Indeed, he was hopping on one foot to another in his excitement, and the other members of his troupe had gathered closer to peer at the crystalline drops.

“Let him down,” Segundus repeated, his voice bolder. “And let us leave you peacefully. Then these are all yours, to do with as you wish.”

The Faerie sniffed. “Yes, yes, yes. Your recalcitrant troublemaker and yourself may be gone. But you must leave the gems with us! They will be good tribute for His Grace!”

He made a gesture with his hand, cutting the air with movements so fast Childermass could not properly follow them with his eyes. The effect was instantaneous; he found himself falling to the ground with all the grace of a sack of flour, the air rushing out of him and leaving him speechless for a long few seconds.

Segundus rushed over, all anxious worry and fretfulness, and Childermass found himself oddly grateful for his friend’s fussing as Segundus brushed down his clothing and checked on his injuries. Apart from the bruises he could feel forming under his clothes, the thrashing had left him with a deep cut along his cheekbone, which oozed blood and stung when Segundus prodded it. Childermass brushed his hand away, earning himself a sharp retort.

“Let us be off,” Childermass muttered. “Or they will try and take your precious baubles and then cut both our throats.” He did not trust the way the Fae kept edging closer. One Faerie lady was even brandishing an especially large scythe, and the Faerie gentleman’s gaze on the Tears-of-Hope had become lustfully covetous.

“Concentrate on standing upright,” Segundus snapped, “and leave the magic to me.” Childermass tried to brush his friend’s hand away a second time, but was unable to balance, and blushed to accept Segundus’ steadying arm around his waist. “You really are a most infuriating gentleman, sir.”

“I am no gentleman, you may be sure of that.”

“Enough! You will give us your treasure, Magician, or you and your companion will be turned into fine examples for other fools who would dare to trespass on these lands!” The Fae had become a threatening horde now, and Childermass tried to angle his body so as to shield Segundus from them, despite the aches in his arms and legs. This provoked a click of the tongue and a muttered remark from Segundus about Childermass being in no fit position to protect anyone, least of all himself.

With a deftness Childermass was unaware he possessed, Segundus threw the Tears-of-Hope at the lead Faerie in a fluid movement, and withdrew a small pocket mirror. 

“According to Jonathan Strange’s notes, this should do as well as its larger counterpart. I suppose it is time to find out whether his assumption was accurate.”

Before Childermass could form a proper retort, Segundus had placed the tips of both their right index fingers on the mirror, and the wind swirled around them, mixed with the surprised exclamations of the Fae. His hair fell into his eyes and Childermass blinked, lifting his hand to brush it away. When he glanced about them again, he could not help a gasp of surprise escaping his lips.

They were in the drawing room of Starecross Hall, a large fire burning merrily away in the fireplace, and Segundus’ good friend Mr Honeyfoot waiting anxiously in an armchair with a well-thumbed copy of Belasis’ _Instructions_ in his hands.

“John!” he cried, standing up too fast and nearly tripping over the low table in front of him in his rush to greet them. “I see you’ve managed to find Mr Childermass in time! Who’d have thought the _Instructions_ would be properly useful, eh? And the mirror?”

“Ah, thank you for reminding me.” Segundus led Childermass over to the chair Mr Honeyfoot had just vacated and indicated that he should sit down. “I must finish the spell.”

As Childermass and Mr Honeyfoot watched, he whispered an incantation over the mirror (which was now reflecting the angry faces of the Fae, appearing even more hideous and twisted in countenance) and smashed the glass with a small mallet he retrieved from the mantelpiece before throwing the broken mirror into the fire.

“To make sure they have no recourse for revenge. I placed a glamour on some of the snowdrop flowers from our gardens here to look like Tears-of-Hope, since the last time they were recorded anywhere was three hundred years ago. I expect they’ll be upset,” he explained, as Childermass looked up at him with not a little wonder. When had this transformation from a nervous Theoretical Magician to competent Practical Magician occurred? Perhaps he really had been spending too long poring over the many variations of the King’s Letters on Vinculus’ body, and had neglected to keep abreast of Segundus’ most recent discoveries. He made a note to remedy this oversight. 

Together with Mr Honeyfoot, they mulled over what had transpired for nearly two hours, each man offering theories as to why the Fae had moved to that part of the King’s Roads, and what further precautions needed to be taken the next time a journey was attempted. At length, when Childermass’ yawns exceeded his capacity for rational conversation, and Mr Honeyfoot’s exclamations were less exuberant than they usually were, Segundus got to his feet.

“Well, gentleman, I trust this evening has proved enlightening for all. Shall we to bed?”

Unusually, for a group of magicians, they were all in agreement. Childermass grudgingly accepted Segundus’ help in navigating the staircase up to the room that was usually kept aside for him, sagging a little against the other man in his exhaustion. Mr Honeyfoot had been installed in one of the bedrooms in the eastern wing of the house, and bade them both goodnight.

“We are very glad you weren’t sacrificed after all, Mr Childermass,” he noted cheerfully, just as he set off down the long corridor that connected the two wings of the house. “Mr Segundus most of all, I should think! We’ve only just lost the two leading magicians in the land. I shudder to think what we’d do if we had lost you as well.”

Unable to find a suitable response to this (and unwilling to contemplate his own mortality just yet), Childermass lifted a hand in farewell, and allowed himself to be steered to the bedroom. A fire had already been lit, and the bed had been turned down for the evening. Childermass was seized with a powerful desire to fall into the bed and sleep for an age, but managed to wobble over to it with a measure of decorum on his own.

“You look a fright,” Segundus told him rather severely, once the door was closed behind them. “And I’ll thank you _not_ to put your boots on the bed!” He nearly skipped over to where Childermass was about to recline on the severely overstuffed featherbed. A whispered spell whisked Childermass’ boots and stockings off, before Segundus began to undress him with more care.

“You really are turning into a schoolmaster,” Childermass returned, allowing himself to be checked over. He wondered what the pupils thought about his comings and goings at Starecross, and whether they cared at all. 

He cursed loudly when Segundus found a particularly nasty bruise on his ribcage, and the glare he received in return from Segundus was severe enough that Childermass bit his lip and said nothing else for the duration of the examination. At length, Segundus finished probing at Childermass’ skin and produced some ointment that smelt of lavender and thyme. This he rubbed into Childermass’s bruises, tapping his fingertips over the purple marks and whispering an incantation that made a sudden warmth flare up and then subside into gentle heat. 

“Well, that should speed the healing process. I’ve seen you in worse condition, but that’s not to say that I’m happy that you went gallivanting on the King’s Roads with such abandon!”

“If you’re going to lecture me, can we not wait till morning?” His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and Childermass had noted the sagging of Segundus’ shoulders. Guiltily, he thought of the worry he would have caused, and how Segundus would have scrambled to find the proper spells of location and transportation, to say nothing of the complicated glamour he must have cast on the flowers to fool sharp Faerie eyes.

He tugged at Segundus’ sleeve, after Segundus had put away his coat and the various ointments and spellbooks that he had been using. “I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn. Come to bed, John. I’ve not thanked thee yet.”

Segundus rubbed his eyes and muttered something about Childermass’ wild expeditions being the absolute last straw, but allowed himself to be pulled down. They shifted and shuffled around the bed, and Childermass tried not to groan as the bruises on his body made their presence felt. 

“You are the most aggravating of men,” Segundus said, even as Childermass managed to prop himself up on an elbow and began undoing Segundus’ immaculately-tied cravat. “It is good Vinculus ran out of claret early once you left him in the Old Starre Inn and thought to come here to acquire more, otherwise I wouldn’t have found out about your predicament until… until…” He didn’t finish his sentence, owing to Childermass’ deft fingers unbuttoning his shirt. Instead, a blush stole over his cheeks, and he turned his wide eyes to Childermass’ face, his mouth half-open.

It would not do, Childermass thought, to refuse such an invitation. He leaned forward and covered Segundus’ lips with his own, savouring the slight hitch in Segundus’ breath that inevitably signalled his capitulation. They kissed for a long time, tongues tangling and teeth pulling at each other’s lips, and Childermass took advantage of Segundus’ momentary incapacity to unbutton his shirt completely and push it off his shoulders. He was half-naked already, thanks to Segundus’ earlier examination of his wounds. It was but the work of a moment to remove the rest of their clothes and fling them to the floor.

“I am sorry to make you worry about me so,” Childermass whispered, pulling Segundus closer. “Truly. It was intended as a small diversion from my work, and I did not think it through properly before I set off. I do not like to think of you being distressed.”

“Then do not undertake such diversions without telling me!” Segundus hissed, before sighing and throwing his head back against the pillow, so that his neat dark hair fanned out about him in a wild tangle. “Oh, I know your nature, John. You will go wherever you wish, and I do not think it is in mine or anyone else’s power to stop you. I only wish you would take more precautions, such as listening to me when I tell you about possible hidden dangers along the way. With Mr Norrell and Strange gone, and the Restoration of magic to England, not to mention the reappearance of the Raven King, we have much to discover about the ways into and out of Faerie. I do not want you to endure some other misadventure because of something we could have prevented. We must be more careful about how we find our way there in future.”

“Aye,” Childermass agreed, placing a kiss upon Segundus’ collarbone and enjoying the small shudder that went through his body. “I would not like to encounter that band of Faerie brutes again.”

“Do not be flippant with me, sir.”

“And I promise to listen to Master Segundus the next time he warns me I am about to do something unwise.” This earned Childermass a half-hearted remark about manners, but they kissed again, the heat slowly building anew between them. Segundus had already begun to push his body more insistently against Childermass’, his excitement obvious despite his protestations to the contrary.

This, Childermass thought, was something that he knew what to do with.

“Did you see the magic I did tonight, John?” Segundus asked, as Childermass slowly slid his palm down his body to take him in hand. Segundus took a deep breath and endeavoured to continue, “I was not certain that my spell of location would work - the water in my basin had a mind of its own this evening. The quarters I drew kept shifting … ah… kept changing locations and I was afraid that I would not find you.”

“Oh yes?” Childermass was persuaded to stop his slow exploration of Segundus’ neck with his mouth to pose the question. “And how did you manage to get a fix on where I was?” He varied the speed of his hand, drawing out Segundus’ keening moans of desperation as he waited for an answer.

“I - ah! - I used a token.” When Childermass paused in his ministrations, Segundus pointed vaguely at his trousers. “The paper knife you brought me the last time you visited Starecross. It provided the link to you. After that, it was a simple matter. The snowdrops were the perfect flowers for the glamour, since they symbolise Hope. The pocket mirror was Mr Strange’s idea, as I’ve noted already. The rest was straightforward.”

The realisation that Segundus had used the paper knife Childermass had given him — which had been one of his most prized possessions, being one of the first things he had bought for himself after a year in Norrell’s service — as part of his rescue left Childermass at a loss for words. To cut through the disruptive magical currents that blocked the accurate location of an individual required a clear, strong connection between the magician attempting the spell and his target. He had not realised the depth of Segundus’ affection, had not dared hope for anything stronger than intellectual affinity and a warm body to share a bed with on a cold evening. 

He felt suddenly unworthy. “You are a man of constant surprises, Mr Segundus. I am not sure I was worth all your trouble.”

The blush on John Segundus’ face deepened considerably. “You are most vital to our efforts to revive English Magic, sir. And besides, you are, to me, very precious indeed. If those Faeries had dared carry out their threat, I would have loosed the whole of Starecross’ magic upon them.” It was a bold statement, considering Segundus’ natural inclination towards quiet study and cautious diplomacy.

Childermass had no words to reply, so he kissed Segundus, and this time the kiss was gentle and unhurried. It was as if they were sharing some secret part of themselves, something hidden away that had only now been brought to light.

“You drive me mad, John,” Segundus told Childermass, as Childermass’ hand enveloped both of their cocks, stroking them together. “First, you infuriate me by heading off into Faerie without a word, then you — you…” He could not finish his sentence, being effectively reduced by Childermass’ clever fingers to incoherency. 

Childermass took no small amount of pleasure in watching Segundus come undone, particularly enjoying the rush of power at the realisation that this talented magician, this prim schoolmaster, his eloquent lover, had lost the power of speech due to no magic at all but Childermass’ own touch. He swallowed Segundus’ moans with his lips, kissing Segundus like a drowning man as he stroked them both to completion.

Segundus reached his crisis first, his seed spilling down Childermass’ fingers and triggering his own climax. He cursed hoarsely, and even if Segundus had remarked upon his uncouth use of language, Childermass was unable to pay it any heed. 

“Are my apologies for distressing you earlier accepted, sir?” Childermass asked, once Segundus had wiped them both down with a clean linen cloth.

Segundus sniffed, but allowed Childermass to wind an arm around him and pull him closer. “I suppose one cannot fault your sincerity, though your methods of apology do leave some room for improvement.” He leaned forward and blew out the candle on the nightstand. The fire in the grate had burned down to embers now, and the room was bathed in a soft orange glow. It was not, thankfully, the otherwordly orange of a Faerie bonfire, but a good, honest English fire. Childermass laughed to think of what the Faerie brigands would be doing with their glamoured snowdrops now, and thought once more of venturing out onto the King’s Roads, feeling the urge like a deep pull in his guts.

“I suppose I will have to work on improving my apologies for the next time I plan another expedition without your knowledge, won’t I?” 

“No, John.” Segundus’ smile was sly in the flickering light of the dying fire. “You will be taking me along with you, in case a rescue is needed.”

Childermass found he had no argument with that.


End file.
